Quit Your Worrying! eBook

CHAPTER X

THE WORRIES OF PARENTS

A worrying parent is at once an exasperating and a
pathetic figure. She—­for it is generally
the mother—­is so undeniably influenced by
her love that one can sympathize with her anxiety,
yet the confidant of her child, or the unconcerned
observer is exasperated as he clearly sees the evil
she is creating by her foolish, unnecessary worries.

The worries of parents are protean, as are all other
worries, and those herein named must be taken merely
as suggestions as to scores of others that might be
catalogued and described in detail.

Many mothers worry foolishly because their children
do not obey, are not always thoughtful and considerate,
and act with wisdom, forgetful that life is the school
for learning. If any worrying is to be done,
let the parent worry over her own folly in not learning
how to teach, or train, her child. Line upon
line, precept upon precept, here a little, there a
little, is the natural procedure with children.
It is unreasonable to expect “old heads upon
young shoulders.” Worry, therefore, that
children have not learned before they are taught is
as senseless as it is demoralizing. Get down to
something practical. I know a mother of a large
family of boys and girls. They are as diverse
in character and disposition as one might ever find.
She is one of the wise, sensible, practical mothers,
who acts instead of worrying. For instance, she
believes thoroughly in allowing the children to choose
their own clothing. It develops judgment, taste,
practicability. One of the girls was vain, and
always wanted to purchase shoes too small for her,
in order that she might have “pretty feet.”
Each time she brought home small shoes, her mother
sent her back with admonitions to secure a larger
pair. After this had continued for several times,
she decided upon another plan. When the “too
small” shoes were brought home, she compelled
the girl to wear them, though they pinched and hurt,
until they were worn out, and, as she said in telling
me the story, “that ended that.”

One of her sons was required to get up every morning
and light the fire. Very often he was lazy and
late so that the fire was not lighted when mother
was ready to prepare breakfast. One night he brought
home a companion to spend a day or two. The lads
frolicked together so that they overslept. When
mother got up in the morning, there was no fire.
She immediately walked to the foot of the stairs and
yelled, “Fire! Fire! Fire!”
at the top of her voice. In a few moments, both
lads, tousled, half-dressed, and well-scared, rushed
downstairs, exclaiming: “Where’s
the fire? Where’s the fire?” “I
want it in the stove,” was the mother’s
answer—­and “that was the end of that.”